Rope

On the other hand, what's the use of a fantasy world if you can't hurt other people's feelings? I've done it of course, and I dare you, double dare you, to cast the first stone. But, and I hope this doesn't disappoint you, I've never done it cold. Never set someone up just for the pure pleasure of pulling the rug out. Think I should? Just to see how it feels? Now I'm talking like a sociopath. Was it Leopold and Loeb? Spelling might be wrong, but you know who I mean, and the reason I think of them and not, say, Ted Bundy, is the Hitchcock movie. How to become immortal: get Hitchcock to make a movie about you. Except he's dead. Rope. Give them enough rope and we all know what happens, which is sort of what writing a blog feels like, and I've already brought up the topic of confession, haven't I? Relax boys. At least for now. At least for as long as you're good to me. Discretion is very important to a whore. It's almost as important as "perfect tits" and a "fine ass." Just quoting of course, but it's true all the same that I don't value modesty very highly. At least not in the as opposed to vain sense. In the as opposed to showy and vulgar sense, I value it quite highly. I see nothing wrong with being vain, as long as you keep it to yourself, and yes, I know, vanity is what got that charming couple, L&L, the rope. But they didn't keep it to themselves, did they? Couldn't. It's very hard to resist the temptation of letting the world you despise know how smart you are. Do I speak from experience? Of course not. Keen observation, if I may say so myself.

Scruples

I'm already wondering if I shouldn't have made this anonymous. Can I share the private life of Portia Saunders with anyone who might wander through here? Probably not. Or at least not the whole private life, which may not be very interesting anyway. What's worrisome, though, is not any reticence on my part. I can be as confessional as the next girl. In fact, I have quite a healthy appetite for it. The problem, as always, is other people. That's Sartre I think. Or was it Sartre quoting de Sade? Anyway, the line is "Hell is other people." And the point is that confessions ought to include other people, at least most of the time. Even masturbation includes other people most of the time, at least that's been my experience. Is that a comma splice? I don't even care: that's how wild I want to be on this blog. But, alas, as I was saying, or was about to say, other people can so easily get their feelings hurt, so it wouldn't be right, would it, to be too confessional. And then there's the issue of my profession. Escort, aka whore. Should it be off limits to discuss my clients? Even if I don't name names? I can sense them getting a bit nervous already, should they be reading this. One solution for that would be to retire, which I've seriously considered. A solution for me I mean, since then I'd have less of a stake, financially speaking, in whether I offended anyone. Too bad, though, I'm a good girl at heart. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, unless of course he deserved it. My oh my. Scruples in a fantasy world are extremely annoying.